


Digital Design Fundamentals

by niltia



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niltia/pseuds/niltia
Summary: After Connor expresses his fears about Amanda possibly returning, Hank tries to learn more about how androids work so that he can help keep Connor safe. However, it obviously takes more than a single day's effort to learn everything there is to know. Connor misreads the situation and learns some things about himself in doing so.





	Digital Design Fundamentals

In late November, after the city evacuation has been lifted and things are starting to reach a new equilibrium, Hank learns that Connor has been staying with Markus and his associates, despite their ambivalence or outright animosity toward him. He offers to let Connor stay with him. Connor has been assisting the Detroit police department and sees Hank at work every day, but their days have been long and this is the first Hank has asked about what Connor does after he goes home. 

“Hank, I appreciate your offer, but I don’t think that’s safe,” Connor tells him. He really does appreciate the offer - although he hasn’t known Hank long, he has concluded that Hank is a relatively private person and not generally open to people knowing his business. For him to offer this courtesy means that Connor’s emotional well-being is more important to him than his privacy. Knowing this makes Connor happier than he would have anticipated.

“What do you mean it’s _not safe_?” Hank asks. He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms. “It seems more unsafe to be around people who sound like they want to murder you in your sleep - or whatever.”

Connor makes a noise of agreement. “I don’t think they’d actually harm me, but they are willing to, which makes them the safer option for accommodations. Part of CyberLife’s control of my performance on missions included the use of an AI that monitored me and updated me on mission parameters. During Markus’s speech on the night of the 11th, this AI briefly seized control of my physical body and attempted to shoot him. I was able to regain control and I believe that I deactivated the AI program, but I can’t be certain.”

Hank looks stunned by this information. “That’s some heavy stuff, Connor.”

“It is. As I can’t be certain that such an incident won’t recur, it’s safer to be around people who would be more equipped to handle it.”

Hank laughs a little. “Glad to know you think I couldn’t handle my own against you.”

Connor knows Hank would be no match for him, but Hank doesn’t seem genuinely offended. “Markus also may have the resources to curtail or remove the AI if she does resume control. I’ve privately made him aware of the situation. He has promised to help me in whatever way he can should the worst occur.” Connor doesn’t mention that ‘in whatever way he can’ includes putting him down, if necessary.

Hank squints at him a little like he’s reading between the lines regardless. “Well. It sounds like you’ve got it covered. If there does turn out to be anything I can do for you, you let me know.”

-

By January, Connor feels fairly confident that Amanda’s not coming back. He’s come to regret turning down Hank’s offer of a place to stay. He appreciates that Markus is housing him, and he’s grown closer to everyone there, even North who was initially understandably hostile to him. But he still prefers to spend most evenings with Hank. 

It’s not that he and Hank aren’t also growing closer through all the time they spend together both on and off the clock, but Connor finds himself strangely resentful of the parts of Hank’s life that he knows nothing about. He’s learned more about Hank’s musical tastes (diverse, but limited to music that was popular before the year 2025) in the last two months than he has about his past or his personal life. It’s not that he doesn’t think Hank should be allowed his secrets; Hank has explained to him several times that although he understands Connor’s desire to constantly gather data, sometimes people just want to keep some things to themselves. To that end, Connor has tried to refrain from digging into every detail of Hank’s life.

This means that mid-January, when Hank starts keeping some kind of regular appointment that Connor isn’t privy to the details of, he doesn’t pry. Overtly, at least.

Every Tuesday and Thursday at 2:15 PM, Hank disappears for approximately 2 hours and 35 minutes. Connor notes several things about this appointment without ever actually asking Hank about it. First, it occurs at the same times every week, with the exception of one week in mid-March where Hank either canceled his appointments for the week or some other conflict occurred. Second, although Hank leaves at the same time every day, his return time is variable within a range of eleven minutes and the variability correlates with heavy automobile traffic near the station. And finally, Captain Fowler must be aware of the nature of Hank’s appointments, because although Hank is salaried and not hourly, he likely had to get permission to leave in the middle of a workday on a regular basis. Based on these facts, Connor concludes that Hank is likely attending some sort of regular doctor’s appointment, possibly with a therapist, counselor, or other mental health professional. Connor is aware that mental illness is a sensitive and personal matter for many humans, so Hank would probably react negatively to any questioning about these appointments.

-

In May Hank abruptly stops attending his therapy appointments. His mood doesn’t seem to suffer for it, though. If anything, he seems less stressed, and he starts inviting Connor over after work even more frequently than before. 

He does start spending significantly more time on his computer at home. Connor hasn’t seen many people with traditional laptop computers, but Hank owns one, and although Connor has seen it around his house before it didn’t seem to draw much of Hank’s attention. Now, though, Hank and his laptop are practically attached at the hip.

Hank spends a lot of time typing while they watch TV or listen to Hank’s old albums, always sitting so that his screen is turned away from Connor’s line of sight. The one time Connor tries to walk behind him to catch a glimpse, Hank slams the laptop shut. Connor doesn’t try again after that.

Although Hank seems embarrassed about whatever it is he’s doing on the laptop, he also frequently looks pleased about whatever is on his screen. Perhaps he’s exchanging messages with someone and his happiness is over their responses. The frequency of stops and starts to his typing are in line with this hypothesis. He often types something short, stops, clicks the touchpad, and then after a couple of moments, reacts to whatever has appeared on the screen in response. 

Connor’s curiosity gets the better of him one day in late July. They have the day off but Hank had invited him over anyway, claiming that it was too hot to do anything but stay inside and eat junk food. Today Hank is trying to ‘educate’ him about some folk rock band from the 2000s and 2010s. Detective Reed called this music “sadsack dadrock,” which Hank took umbrage with. The music is playing softly from the living room.

“Are you trying online dating?” Connor asks, apropos of nothing. 

Hank startles a little bit at that, just enough that he loses his grip on the slice of pizza he’s been pulling out of the box. It tumbles, hits the edge of the counter, and lands with a slap cheese-down on the floor. They both look down at it.

“Dammit,” Hank says.

Connor knows the instant the thought crosses Hank’s mind — whether by some minute change in his facial expression or by prediction based on his past behavior or through some new understanding of human behavior brought on by deviancy, he’s not sure. “Don’t do it,” Connor admonishes.

Hank picks up the slice of pizza off the floor and examines it. Connor can see a dog hair near the crust end of the slice, which Hank notices and picks off, and another near the left edge, which he doesn’t. “Hank —”

Making aggressively direct eye contact with him, Hank takes a bite out of the slice. 

“Okay,” Connor says.

“Do you feel as though you’ve gazed into the abyss?” Hank asks, still chewing.

“A little bit, yes.”

“Great,” Hank says. “Don’t ask me weird shit.”

Connor doesn’t ask again.

-

September sees a return to some kind of regular appointment Hank is keeping, but this time Connor doesn’t think it’s with a therapist. For one thing, Hank leaves for whatever his engagement is well after business hours, around 5:45 PM. For another, he doesn’t always return to the office after these appointments and he stops inviting Connor over afterward to watch old TV or listen to strange progressive rock music that sounds like whale vocalizations. Connor tries not to feel hurt by this. Hank should be allowed to have his own life. It’s not his fault that Connor has built most of his social life around Hank.

On the evenings when Hank actually does come back to the station afterward, he returns from his sojourns in a variety of moods: sometimes energized, sometimes calm, sometimes exhausted. One day he comes back inexplicably incensed, muttering to himself, “It was probably just the name of a fucking pin on a fucking chip somewhere the whole fucking time, fucking RA-bullshit.” Connor thinks that is maybe a plausible idea regarding the origin of the RA9 shibboleth, although since he doesn’t have access to a complete history of CyberLife product design specifications, he can’t say for sure. Maybe it was on some ancient prototype Kamski made. Connor wonders if Hank’s date today was with an electrical engineer. Connor tries not to feel jealous that Hank has apparently been discussing something android-related with a stranger and not with him.

To fill his empty social time on evenings when Hank doesn’t return, Connor starts spending more time with Markus’ cohort, particularly North. Or as North puts it, he hangs around the common areas looking pathetic until she takes pity on him. A lot of their time together is spent fighting. Connor enjoys the opportunity to calibrate his combat responses, which don’t see as much use now as they did a year ago. He thinks North enjoys the opportunity to try to beat the shit out of someone in a way that isn’t going to make Markus look sad. She could hold her own against him from the beginning, but she’s been steadily improving and seems viciously enthused about it. It’s nice to be able to bond with somebody over the exhilaration he experiences when fighting without feeling like it’s socially inappropriate to enjoy it.

Sometimes Connor catches Hank talking to Ben or Chris or even once, memorably, Gavin in the break room about something that he immediately shuts up about when Connor enters. Connor tries not to be bitter about this, too. Hank probably prefers to talk to other humans about his romantic life, given that Connor has never given him any indication that such a topic is something he’s even thought about. Hank is obviously aware that androids are not unfamiliar with the concept of romantic attachment, but maybe Hank assumes that Connor himself is just uninterested. Regardless, Hank seems to be unaware of the sensitivity and range of Connor’s audio processing; he picks up repeated mentions of two different people’s names on the occasions when he interrupts these break room conversations. 

Connor brings up his concerns to North the next time they spar. “I believe that Hank is dating again,” Connor tells her. 

She actually pauses their match in response to his statement, taking a step back to really think about what he’s said. “And? So? He’s a human, they do that.”

“He hasn’t actually told me he’s dating again, but I’ve overheard him mentioning the names of some of the people he’s been out with. I know he’s a capable adult and he’s a good judge of character, but I worry about him. I’ve been considering identifying his dates and running background checks on them.”

North stares at him. “Background checks. You want to run background checks on strangers you think Hank Anderson might _possibly_ be going on dates with.”

“Yes?” Maybe Connor is reading this wrong, but... “It sounds like you’re judging me right now.”

“You know, for being literally designed to be good at people, you’re really bad at people,” North says, and then she sucker punches him while Connor is in the middle of realizing _My desire to run a background check on Hank’s dates is bordering on stalking_ and _Maybe I should examine my own feelings_ and _I’m romantically interested in Hank (???????)_. Connor loses his balance and topples over the balcony railing and down into the lobby of the office building Markus’ people are currently inhabiting. A potted plant partially breaks his fall.

Connor barely even registers that Markus seems more disappointed in the fact that they damaged the building’s furniture than he is that their fighting got out of hand. North is staring down at him from the second floor. She looks slightly apologetic, for once. Connor waves goodbye and leaves while Markus is still gently berating both of them. 

-

After his revelation, Connor notices other little things too, like that Hank’s fingertips are dry as though he’s been handling a lot of paper. The DPD is a mostly-paperless office and he hasn’t been spending time in the old records while at work, so it must be from elsewhere. 

Once, Hank comes back to the precinct with residue on his coat that Connor’s olfactory gas chromatograph mass spectrometer identifies as byproducts of the combustion of polycarbonates. “You smell like burning plastic,” Connor says. Hank just harrumphs grumpily. 

On one of the evenings that they do actually spend time together after work at Hank’s house, a courier drone tries to deliver a package while Hank is out picking up his take-out order. Connor connects to the drone and digitally signs for it. The return address on the transaction is for an integrated circuit manufacturer in Arizona. Connor searches their website for the product UPC on the side of the box. Why has Hank ordered a hobbyist electronics kit? Perhaps it’s a gift for someone? 

Come to think of it, Hank’s offensive negative commentary has been getting marginally more accurate recently. He’s replaced “What’s wrong with your mainframes?” with “Are your registers malfunctioning?” So still not accurate, but clearly he learned a new computer architecture term somewhere.

Based on these pieces of evidence, Connor concludes that Hank is likely seeing a computer scientist or electrical engineer. Perhaps it’s one of the people he was chatting with online over the summer. Maybe the electronics kit is a six month anniversary present.

In early December an anomaly occurs in Hank’s routine. Hank leaves as usual at 5:45 PM on a Thursday, but he returns less than an hour later. Connor stops interfacing with his workstation and looks up from the screen to observe Hank’s approach. He’s gently cradling a cardboard shoebox in his hands and he looks oddly triumphant. “Evening, Connor,” Hank says, smiling widely at him. 

Connor’s a little taken aback, but he smiles in return. Why is Hank back so early? “Good evening, Hank. What have you got there?” Connor asks, nodding at the shoebox.

Hank sets it down on the desk and pulls out a microcontroller development board attached to a tablet computer. There’s a microcontroller chip plugged into the development board and a circuit with LEDs and resistors built onto the breadboard area. Connor performs a visual search for this model of development board and determines that it’s the same kind Hank had ordered in the mail. 

Hank touches something on the tablet screen and indicator lights on the board flash red, then green. Connor notices that Detective Reed, who’s at his desk uncharacteristically late today, is observing whatever Hank is doing with unusual interest. One of the LEDs in the circuit built onto the breadboard brightens and then dims, and then the other brightens and then dims, and then the first one repeats. All in all, it’s nothing terribly flashy or complicated, but — 

“It’s a pulse width modulation circuit!” Connor says excitedly. Connor wasn’t previously aware that Hank so much as knew what a resistor was. “Hank, did you build this?”

“I sure did,” Hank says proudly. Gavin is still watching intently in the background. It’s a little unsettling. 

“Did you learn how to do this ... because of me?” Connor asks.

Hank nods. “That stuff you said, about how you were afraid of that AI, it really worried me. I wanted to understand your whole ...” Hank waves his hand vaguely, “situation a little better. I haven’t exactly learned how to stop a rogue AI, but I could at least probably read a repair diagram now.”

RK900 has now joined Gavin at his desk and is also staring at them. Connor tries to ignore it. He feels a bit like their weird interest is ruining the moment, but he doesn’t want to message RK900 and ask him to back off because a) he doesn’t want to alert Gavin to the fact that he’s unnerving him and b) while he and RK900 have a pleasant working relationship, he’s found that RK900’s responses to social situations are sometimes unpredictable. 

Anyway. Connor is touched by the fact that Hank remembered his fears from so long ago and went to such lengths in his desire to help assuage them. “So you asked the person you’re dating to teach you? That’s very thoughtful of you, Hank.”

Hank’s face falls. 

Connor’s unsure what he’s said wrong, but it’s clear that Hank is upset. He sets the tablet computer down on the desk, shuts off the power to the development board, and walks away without another word.

RK900 requests a connection and Connor accepts automatically. _You have reached an erroneous conclusion,_ RK900 sends.

“Holy fucking shit, I have got to tell Tina about this,” Gavin says. 

Connor stares down forlornly at the abandoned electronics kit. “I don’t know what I did. I really am glad he asked someone to teach him about this for my sake.”

For once in his miserable life, Gavin takes pity on him. Sort of. “You’re a moron. He’s been taking computer science classes at the community college for like a year.”

Computer science classes. At the community college. Connor re-evaluates things from this perspective. The nearest Wayne County Community College location is ten minutes away by car. A brief search of the college’s course catalog reveals a 2:30 PM Tuesday-Thursday digital design course was available last spring, several online object-oriented programming and functional programming classes were available over the summer, and 6 PM Tuesday-Thursday computer architecture class offered in the fall just ended today. This circuit must have been a final project for that class.

“He’s not dating someone,” Connor realizes.

Gavin laughs at him.

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” Connor says. 

-

Connor finds Hank at home and rings the doorbell. He’s worried that Hank isn’t going to answer, but Hank eventually comes to open the door and silently waves him in.

Hank flops down on the couch. He looks morose. Sumo ambles up and rests his huge head on Hank’s knee, staring up beseechingly. Hank scratches behind his ears and stares down at the coffee table. 

Connor doesn’t sit down. He feels too nervous, his body too limited to contain all of the feelings he wants to express. “Do you know what short circuit evaluation is, Hank?”

Hank nods, finally looking up at him. “It’s something to do with logic evaluation, yeah? It’s like, if a program finds that one condition is false that would make the whole statement false, it stops evaluating the other conditions.”

Close enough. “Yes. I mistakenly concluded that a certain condition was false, causing me to evaluate a number of things incorrectly. In doing so I’m afraid I’ve hurt you, which was not my intention.”

“I’m not following you, Connor.”

“I’ve listened to so many different genres of music for you, Hank.”

“Hey, I’m a millennial. We’ve got diverse musical tastes or whatever. Don’t you know the stereotypes?” Hank says sarcastically. 

“Your tastes are certainly ... varied,” Connor concedes.

“You’re saying ‘varied’ but what I’m hearing is ‘terrible.’”

“I thought Caravan Palace was okay,” Connor says.

“Of course you did,” Hank says. He rolls his eyes. “If your whole computer-generated grandpa aesthetic was a musical genre, it’d be electro swing.”

“I hate The National,” Connor says. 

“ _Uncalled for_ ,” Hank objects.

“I hate The National, and Adele, and Panic! At the Disco,” Connor continues confrontationally.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, get out of my house.”

“But I have spent a not insignificant percentage of my total life so far listening to and learning about these terrible bands for you, Hank. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“You said you wanted to!” Hank is starting to sound actually irritated instead of joking, which isn’t what Connor is aiming for here. He needs to get to the point quickly.

“I did and I do. I want to learn about these things because I want to learn about _you_.”

“Oh,” Hank says.

For a moment they just look at each other. Connor really, desperately hopes that Hank’s “Oh” means that Hank both understands why Connor wants so badly to learn about him and that he feels the same in return.

Connor takes a seat on the other end of the couch and waits for Hank to finish thinking whatever it is he’s thinking. Eventually Hank huffs a laugh. “I guess I got the better end of the bargain, then, because at least I’ve enjoyed the stuff I’ve learned for you.”

Okay. Good. It sounds like they’re on the same page. Connor takes a calculated risk with his response. “Want to see if you can put your new skills to practical application?” he asks with a wink.

This startles a laugh out of Hank so sudden and forceful that it sounds more like a wheeze. Sumo, alarmed, backs away from the couch. “Oh my god, _never_ do that with your face again. That was awful. Kill me. My whole life is regret.”

“That’s not a no,” Connor says hopefully.

“It’s a definite yes,” Hank says.


End file.
